


nípa’lapatte

by GayFrankensteinsMonster



Series: after the bureau, everything's fine [4]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Domestic Bliss, Happy Ending, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Personal Growth, Polyamory, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayFrankensteinsMonster/pseuds/GayFrankensteinsMonster
Summary: Your aunt wasn't a smart elf, wasn't a strong elf, wasn't magical or charismatic.But she was a good teacher. And you were a bad listener.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings before i start off: sazed is mentioned, he's a fucker, he's the worst, he and taako were in a relationship but it's not good, it's bad he's bad. he's mostly mentioned in the first bit, before magnus shows up first. you can skip it pretty easily by skipping from the first mention to "Magnus, he was careful with."  
> there's a mention of sexual assault/mutilation in a drawing, you can go ahead and skip the bit about taako reading as a young child, ending with "Your aunt had been smart, about that."  
> this is a lot of taako reconciling with what's happened in the past/what he's been taught, and it's pretty. idk. he's pretty traumatized, he's pretty scared. but like he wants to be happy and things can't get fully fixed ever but things can get better even when it's scary to think of them as getting better bc. idk.  
> if this isn't okay to post or if i'm getting something wrong, let me know and i'll fix it. it's pretty personal to me just the idea of someone who's been through so much still getting this idyllic happy ending. idk. it's nice. i think it's sweet.  
> "nípa’lapatte" means small (esp. relating to being weak) rabbit in elvish. it was taako's name as a kid before he got to choose his own. elfculture yay.

Your aunt was a good elf. 

She taught you a lot of things. How to make a damn good caramel roll. How to braid your hair in a fishtail. How to speak Elvish with the proper accent, sun elf, soft consonants and lilting when necessary to punctuate a conversation. You'd seen yourself in her gap-teeth and her frizzy hair and the flex of her fingers, taken comfort in that familial bond. You were used to a half dozen adults caring for you in turn, rotating responsibilities and romping and living with a veritable litter of other kids on your farm. But you had your aunt, when that living situation came to pass, and she took care of you, taught you. 

Your aunt taught you to stay with the group. 

She'd scuff your face with flour and water, tousling your hair, trying to disguise you somewhat. Elves were pretty, she told you, and people were cruel if they could get something pretty away from their family. When you got older, more curious, you'd pulled big magic tomes off the shelf of her caravan, sat them in your lap and read them by candlelight. You'd come across passages about magical species, felt giddy when you realized elves had natural magic potential. 

You'd read further, paper wrinkling under your fingers as you struggled to parse the Common written on the page. It talked about longevity of spell components, and how to stretch the length of a spell. It suggested- You remembered those exact words and understood them now. It suggested the offal of elves and dragonborn, proudly touting the perks of dragonborn liver and kidneys, elf ears and blood. You'd felt nauseous at the picture they showed, but couldn't look away. 

You were too young to know what prejudice and superstition humans harbored towards elves. You just saw the drawing, crude, mean,  _ evil.  _ The elf in the picture was panicked, naked, eyes bulging and body impossibly slender and mouth taken up by buck teeth. Their ears were cartoonishly long, yanked back in the grip of a monstrous human and severed from the root by a bloody knife. You were too young still to recognize adult happenings, too young to realize what it implied that the elf was pinned down against a table and twisted away from the human. You made yourself sick looking at that picture, made yourself put that book away and vow not to look at it ever again. 

You'd found it again as an adult in a library, turned back to that page. You were wiser, now. Knew why your aunt warned you against straying too far. Knew that humans could turn a profit on a young elf, kidnap them, sell them, barter and trade and chop and- You knew the picture was a caricature for humans, a delicate elf just a plaything, a prize to be taken for the burly hero. You were older. You knew what curled sleeping in the hearts of humans. 

Your aunt had been smart, about that. Be safe. Stay in groups, but don't get too close. If you're going to be alone, be fierce. She had been fierce. 

Your aunt taught you to be careful. 

You didn't listen to her on that one as much. 

Sazed had been your first real boyfriend. Your longest relationship, until recently. He'd been scraggly and charming and human, and humans drew you in. Humans were bizarre and fascinating and utterly strange to you. You didn't know how they aged, you barely understood their language, their customs. They fascinated you.

Your aunt told you not to get involved with humans. 

You were young and naive and he wanted to make you famous and travel with you and make you happy. You’d had the idea, he’d had the stagecoach. You had the charisma, he had the experience. He had experience. You didn’t. You'd been fumbling when you talked to him, when you interacted, your Common still mixed with the accent of your childhood. 

You were  _ too  _ inexperienced to know that things shouldn't hurt, that even when he pretended to be gentle it wasn't for your benefit. You liked it. He told you that you liked it. And part of you was deluded into thinking you did. You got better at things, at making him feel good, and he got nicer. You learned not to nick him with your teeth, not to cry out, and he would reward you. He rewarded you like a dog, like a  _ cat,  _ like an uppity skittish  _ cat  _ that didn't know any better. He called you kitten, kittycat, and it twisted in your stomach. He would pull your ears, disorient you and make you dry-heave, claim it was an accident. He was your employee. You said no to him. He didn’t care. 

You weren't as careful as you should've been. He hurt you. He hurt you, but you didn't know better. 

Magnus, you were careful with. 

You stayed guarded and wary for so long, dodging his hugs and his affection. You'd been hurt by a human before and you wouldn't let it happen again. You knew better, this time. You’d been warned. You were a rabbit in mongoose clothing and if he tried to be friendly you would snap and thrash and claw, fighting metaphorical tooth and nail against the affection of a human. But even when he seemed hurt by your rejection and sarcasm and acerbic bites, he backed off, respecting the signals you gave.

So you opened up to him. Stupid, stupid Taako, you opened up to him. You shared a beer one night and let him gently play with your hair. He'd been careful, reverent, even, breathing softly and moving his hand like you were going to break. That became a common theme with him. 

You grew closer, learned about Julia and his past. He learned about Sazed, and Sizzle It Up! and he didn't think less of you for any of it. One day, you laughed at how big his hands were, and brought one up to your face to kiss the palm gently. He'd looked at you like he was burning, swallowed, drew away. You let him know that you were sorry and teasing and wouldn't do anything that made him uncomfortable, because you didn't want to lose his friendship. Gods above, you didn’t want to lose a human’s friendship. He had nodded, leaned in and draped an arm around you, one hand resting on the side of your hip and rubbing circles on a sliver of exposed skin. 

You'd bolted and kept things painfully platonic until after Wonderland. You'd thought giddily that you didn't win, you got out, you never won a suffering game. But you pushed the thought back and you’d made your way into his bedroom and snuck into bed behind him. It was impulsive, it was reckless, it was done because if he was receptive you’d get much-needed contact and if he rebuffed you, you’d get confirmation of how much of a horrible person you must be. How much of a horrible person your past experiences, your life had made you. 

You remembered it so well, it was something  _ good _ and you didn’t get to experience  _ good.  _

He’d been tense. He was tense before turning over and seeing you and melting as you touched him. You didn’t touch him, tried not to touch him, you curled up and spread your hands over his chest and tried to keep your face hidden. He’d moved to kiss you. It had made your heart thump in your chest and you’d ached and burned. 

She told you to be careful. To take care of yourself. 

He was careful. He kissed you like he was afraid to bruise you, whispered that you were beautiful and that you were important, touched you so lightly you weren’t sure he was there. He would always  _ stop  _ and pull back, look at you with dark eyes like he was still weighing his options, like he was being told two different things at once. Something about it, the confusion, made your heart sputter and you pulled him in with hands on his shoulders and legs wrapped around him. You told him he could leave at any point, you wouldn’t judge, it was okay. You told him to do what felt right. He’d swallowed, and told you that he was going to be fine. You believed him. 

It was different. You nicked him with your teeth as you went down on him and expected a hand around your ear, tugging in some form of punishment, but you got a throaty groan and his hips twitching upwards. You told him to stop, stop, gasping when his knuckles stretched something too far. He didn’t chastise you or flex his fingers, didn’t tell you that you should like it. He stopped, asking if you wanted him to pull out or let you adjust. It was- Unfamiliar- Affectionate- Dangerous. He cared and it was bad. Magnus cared about you, and you shuddered, pulling at his wrist and bringing wet fingers into your mouth, begging for him. You didn’t beg. But you begged for him. 

He’d curled over you protectively and held your hips, thrusts making your toes curl. It was your first time getting this close with him, your first time doing this since-

He didn’t make you leave, afterwards, didn’t tell you that you had something to do later. He wrapped you in the blankets and kissed your temple, and you almost panicked, it was so unfamiliar. But you didn’t, you stayed and he fell asleep with his face buried in your hair. 

She told you that life was give and take, everything was give and take, and that you should try to balance the two. Sazed took everything you had to give. Magnus tried to balance but he let you take and take, that was who he was. It stirred something inside you, something evil whispering that you were just like Sazed, you took and you took and you drained people. It wasn't true. You hoped it wasn't true. But Kravitz was something of a middle ground, and it was bizarre. You weren't supposed to love this many people, learned that from Sazed telling you and-

Your aunt taught you not to get involved. 

You asked her why she didn't have any friends, anyone in her bed at night like some of the other travelers, like the group of parents who raised you. You remembered the twitch of her mouth, poking downwards. She said that you should save that for other elves, and only other elves you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, if you got attached easy. She'd said not to get involved with humans, little bunny, they would always die on you. You wondered if she'd instilled that fascination in you with her warning, since you seemed to  _ only _ be able to get involved with humans. To be fair, though, you didn't know if Kravitz was human. He seemed human, sometimes. Other times he was more elven, more orcish, more dwarven. You could never pin him down. 

He was an odd one. Kravitz was intimidating and older and had something of a severe look about him, when he was working. It was a huge shift when he was off the clock, he was nervous and soft and less stiff. Kravitz was something of a mystery. But he was gentle and  _ fun _ to be around. You went on dates and he would talk with you happily about whatever topic was at hand. He wasn't boring, was never bland, and you could appreciate that. After so many dates, you let him back into your bedroom and he'd kissed you, nervous but not so careful, leaning over you and slipping his hands under your shirt. He wasn't as gentle as Magnus, wasn't as afraid that you would break. His hands were soft, cold, nails biting into the skin of your thighs. 

He'd asked if it was alright when he pulled your legs apart and kissed down your stomach. He'd looked up at you softly, lips brushing against the front of your underwear and you'd nodded furiously. It was slick and wet and he'd finished you off embarrassingly quickly with cool fingers and tongue. There was a noise in the back of his throat, when he moved back up to curl next to you. You'd asked him if he was all good. His fingers spread over your stomach as he asked nervously if you'd return the favor. You'd edged down before he corrected you, hands waving slightly. No, not with your mouth, that was rather uncomfortable to him. 

So you opened him up with your fingers, let him cling to you and gasp and kiss the shell of your ear. He was close to you, pulled you in and whimpered until he’d tightened around you and spasmed. You'd let him crest and kissed him, kissed him until you were breathing hard and had to pull off. 

He looked at you like you hung the moon.

She told you to focus. She told you not to get attached because would people hurt you. 

But gods above, did you get attached. You needed people so desperately, needed people to like you. Your show was so good for that, but you didn't have that anymore. Didn't have Sazed anymore. You didn't want to be abandoned anymore and you clung to people so much, now. 

But Magnus and Kravitz let you cling. 

Magnus would let you wrap your arms around him from behind, kiss between his shoulders. You would curl your fingers in his beard, kiss the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, tease the grey hair around the base of his cock. You loved him like a hearth, like he was home. He was something safe and dependable that you could rely on. You made yourself a home with him, lived with him after the bureau. He would hold you at night like he could absorb you to keep you safe. He loved you with his hands, his mouth. He'd brush his hands over the peach fuzz on your ears, cup the swells of your hips, press fingers softly against your clit, massage the knots out of your shoulders. He'd kiss you, your face, your hands, your stomach, use tongue and teeth on your collarbone and nipples and hips. He loved you. He told you he loved you. You loved him too. 

They were both so handsome and so sweet and so gentle, so unlike what you were used to, what you’d been told people, humans, anyone was like. You would die for them, you would do anything for them. You offered that knowledge up, and they both were gentle with it. They wouldn't use you. You could trust them with your life. 

Kravitz was around less, couldn’t be around as much, but he loved you all the same. Every time he came home to you he would draw you into his soft arms and kiss you anywhere you would let him. You loved him like a wave, something that washed over you gently and swept you up. He stimmed openly, freely, like you were always afraid to do. His hands would fly up and pull through his locs and beat against the air when he got excited, his mouth would form content shapes as he talked to himself and hummed and sang. He fascinated himself with anything he could run his hands over, your hair and your skin and clothing and jewelry. You would mimic those same motions when the two of you lay naked together. You loved his body, the heavy swells of his belly and breasts, black spangles of hair on his jaw, between heavy, stretchmarked thighs. You loved his face, running your hands over plump lips and broad nose and pointed ears. He didn't breathe, didn't sleep, but let you curl against his chest and mediate anyways. There was a gentle spot in the center of his chest where his soul hovered, thrumming warm compared to the chill of the rest of him. He showed it to you as he devolved through his forms, white fire nestled inside a bare ribcage. You'd slipped your fingers inside, palming your hands over licks of flame and kissing mandible and hyoid and clavicle and sternum. He was strange and extraplanar and beautiful, and you’d wanted to curl inside his ribcage. You’d wanted to hold his soul and let him keep you safe, keep you content, keep you warm. 

She taught you to close yourself off from relationships, to keep yourself safe in a group that you didn't care about. But you loved them, you loved them and it terrified you. 

You married Kravitz and it was gentle and soft and sweet and you loved it. You went through the motions of the ceremony and baked cookies afterwards and laughed at his terrible, terrible jokes until you gasped and choked. It wasn't traditional in any sense of the word, but traditional would feel wrong with someone that broke every other rule you came across. Your ring was an ebony band with a slender yellow gold line running through the center, and when you got nervous you'd wind it around your finger. His ring was hollow glass, enchanted with a little illusion of black smoke pluming around inside. Whenever he came to visit he would be wearing it, and it made your heart skip a beat. That was your husband and you loved Kravitz wholly, every part of him. He'd given you the proper go-ahead to stay together with Magnus, whatever you considered  _ together  _ as being. You'd been embarrassed and felt like you were going to be scolded, like you'd done something dirty and wrong. But you hadn't, he’d assured you. He talked about the people he’d loved, nebulous relationships that could never be pinned down. He understood. You told him that it wasn’t nebulous so much as it was  _ nervous,  _ and he’s smiled and kissed you on the forehead. If you were happy, he was happy. So long as you still had a little time for him. And gods, did you want to make time for him. 

That was how you ended up here, ignoring everything your aunt taught you and cuddling with Kravitz. 

You sat with him and watched the dogs wrestle, fingers laced with his and resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’d taken off his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up and tie loosened, and the familiarity of it all was so ridiculous that you almost laughed. Death was your husband and your comforting figure, a constant in your life. Gods above, Taako. Way to be emo. You had a ridiculous amount of pumpkin bread baking as harvest gifts to your friends, perfuming the whole house with ginger and clove. 

Magnus lumbered in from his workshop, rolling his shoulders and complaining as he slumped down next to you on the sofa. You'd asked if he had been busy, teasing, and he'd reached over to flick the tip of your ear. No need to be rude, you'd told him. He seemed excited under the mask of lethargy, and you noticed Kravitz moving, turning to watch you two. Magnus drew his hand out of his pocket, holding something out to you. He needed to make sure it fit, he told you, and his own hands were too big. 

He offered you a delicate, carved ring, impossibly small sunflowers springing from the surface. Yellow pine wood, and he pointed out the single fleck of gold in the middle of the largest flower. It was beautiful, and you slid it onto your pointer finger. No, no, he shook his head. Wrong finger. You raised an eyebrow at him and slipped it off your finger to the middle one. No. Wrong. Fine, you conceded, rolling your eyes. If he was going to be weird about it. 

You slid it onto your ring finger, nestling it against Kravitz’s ring. The two interlocked and complimented each other, flower petals curling over the black band, an odd feature for someone else’s ring. They worked together, like two of a set. Moving to slide it off, you offered it back to him, saying that whoever ordered it would be very, very happy. 

Magnus was kneeling in front of you, on one knee, looking up expectantly. 

Your aunt taught you not to get involved with humans. 

He was old. You saw the grey hair, the crow’s feet. It would be twenty, thirty, forty years at best. It wasn't a whirlwind romance devolved into poison and abandonment or a daisy crown given secretly behind a caravan and a shy kiss that led to nothing. He'd done this before and bless his heart he  _ rushed  _ but he never  _ rushed  _ with you. He was looking at you expectantly, and Kravitz curled a hand on your shoulder. Go on, he said, smiling broadly. He understood. Kravitz was understanding, accommodating, you loved him so much, and he loved you, and you loved Magnus, and you  _ loved  _ and you  _ loved  _ and you  _ loved.  _

You'd broken down and sobbed and crumpled to the floor next to Magnus, clutching his shirt and dragging him down, down to hold you and to pet your hair and kiss your forehead. Kravitz followed, nestling behind you and laughing, gently, softly. You were squished in the middle, both of them holding you and comforting you even though you weren't upset in any way. The dogs noticed your tears too, and descended upon the three of you and the moment was broken. But you were happy, even in the chaotic mess, sandwiched between your husbands. They were flawed, they were perfect, they had grown as people since you’d known them. You loved them. 

You loved them. 


End file.
